


Apprenticed

by SarnakhTheSunderer



Series: Sarnakh's April Daily Prompts: Quarantined Quests [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: /r/FanFiction Challenge, /r/fanfiction April Daily Prompts, Drinking, Dungeons & Dragons Character Backstory, Gen, Sort Of, Underage Drinking, dragonborn not so much, dwarves drink a lot, he gets roped in though, prompt 1: it started with a strong drink, the start of an adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23527801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarnakhTheSunderer/pseuds/SarnakhTheSunderer
Summary: Dragonborn don't drink much, but growing up in Mithral Hall means that you pick it up one way or another. A strong drink is the beginnings of Medrak's apprenticeship as a dwarven-trained smith, and maybe, down the line, something more.April 1 prompt: It started with a strong drink.
Series: Sarnakh's April Daily Prompts: Quarantined Quests [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693117
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Apprenticed

**Author's Note:**

> Not much for notes, to be honest. Figured I'd write something to put to paper some details about my dragonborn forge cleric's backstory, which as it stood before this was less than a screen's worth of notes on my phone and a few scribblings on the character sheet. It's also my first published fic in a *very* long time, so I owe a lot to blueandie for giving me a reason to write, and for something I felt good about posting on the wider web outside of r/fanfiction (even if it is sevreal days late).  
> I hope you enjoy Apprenticed.

#4/1: it started with a strong drink | Dungeons and Dragons | 'Apprenticed' | Teen because dwarves drink a lot, and rope others into drinking with them| 890 words

Like all dwarves, Kroloug Anvilmaul drank, and drank heavily. Unlike most dwarves, Medrak ‘Maker’ Kerrhylor did *not* drink much of anything, but growing up in Mithral Hall, any dragonborn, no matter how young, was liable to pick the habit up eventually, especially if your family lived above a brewhouse.

So it was that Medrak, as usual, found himself mopping up ale and grog from the floors at the wee hours of the morning, or what passed for it, when Kroloug beckoned him over with a belch and a muted call to “get yerself over here, ya shiny lad!” Choosing to ignore the comment on his golden scales, Medrak complied, carefully setting his mop and bucket in the corner where those few remaining patrons of the brewhouse could not disturb them.

“Yes, Mr. Anvilmaul, what can I do for you?” Medrak asked, his Dwarvish slow and somewhat regimented, but it was clear enough for most parties to understand when he spoke.

“Ach, sit down, lad, sit down.” The dwarf gestured to the empty seat beside him, soot settling from his fingernails as he did so. “Maeva! Get this lad a drink, same as what I’m havin’!” he said to the bartender, ignoring Medrak’s look of protest and faint alarm. Maeva, upon seeing the distress on the young dragonborn’s face, walked to the cask of ale that was so watered down it hardly deserved the name ale, and filled a mug with the stuff, before turning to a much stronger brew and put a half measure of it into a second mug. She placed the watered-down ale in front of Medrak and gave the real ale to the dwarf, passing the youth a look of faint apology before turning away again.

Kroloug took a swig of his newly-poured drink and belched. “So, Medrak,” he said, a querying glint in his eye, “I hear ye’ve been shirkin’ off yer chores ta go hang around the forge?”

Medrak hesitantly nodded. Kroloug, while Medrak did not know him well, knew the older Kerrhylor, Medrak’s father, as the two frequently did business with each other. Medrak’s father owned a small mining guild, nothing fancy, especially in a dwarven megacity, but it did well enough, and often supplied raw material with the Anvilmaul clan forge, and the elder Kerrhylor’s draconic ancestry made it easier for him to put up with the dangerous heats that could sometimes leak into the core mines.

“Aye, I suppose I have been, Mr. Anvilmaul.”

“Ach, don’t be sorry to me, lad! It’s yer father ye should apologize to.” A conspiratorial gleam appeared in the drunken dwarf’s eye, and a small grin began to cross his face. “But what if I told ye, ye wouldn’t have ta sneak away ta come ta the forge?”

Though he knew Anvilmaul would not see it, Medrak let a muted look of excitement spread across his face. Though the Anvilmaul clan forge would not have been far if he had the wings of his ancestors, it was four levels above, which made getting to it tricky, especially when you considered the many dwarves that he had to dodge over and around to get there. A valid excuse to be there, and not having to worry about catching a stern cuff to the ear if he was caught, would be a welcome happening. Twelve he may have been, but he already knew he wanted to be a great smith when he was old and accomplished, which had led to him to garner his young name Maker, as he had multiple times carved simple things from wood or stone to give to other people.

He managed to contain the excitement in his voice, and managed a simple “Yes?” which he hoped did not sound too overeager.

“Aye, lad. I hear ye’ve quite the habit for making things.” He leaned in--an awkward look, as Medrak towered over the stout dwarf by nearly two feet even at his young age--and whispered conspiratorially, “How’d ye like ta do it wit’ metal?”

“It sounds like you’re offering me an apprenticeship,” Medrak said, excitement leaking into his voice.

Kroloug nodded. “Aye, that I am, lad.” He took another swig of his drink, set it down, and continued. “Now, it would nae be glamorous work, especially for the first year or two. But,” he said, waving the tankard about, “I’d teach ye everything I could in the time ye’ve got, includin’ how to make some of the most beautiful metalwork ye’ll ever see in yer life. How’s tha’ sound, lad?”

A smile crossed Medrak’s face that even the taciturn features of a dragonborn could not hide. “It sounds wonderful,” Medrak said. “Thank you so much, Mr. Anvilmaul.”

“A toast, then, to a future smith of the Kerrhylor clan,” Kroloug said, and reached for a mug. It took Medrak a second too long to realize that he had in fact grabbed Medrak’s drink, not his own, through chance, artifice, or drunkenness. Resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have a mild hangover in the morning, Medrak reached for the tankard of ale and raised it.

“A toast, then,” Medrak said, and they knocked their mugs together and drank.

An apprenticeship, the young dragonborn mused. He had just taken a new, important step on his journey. And a strong drink had started it all.

**Author's Note:**

> Eh, Medrak's not gonna appreciate that in the morning. Drunk dwarves are great fun, and Medrak was doomed from the start to end up with a stiff mug sooner or later.


End file.
